


The Forgotten

by MortasPriest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, civilian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortasPriest/pseuds/MortasPriest
Summary: Konoha produces many geniuses, that much is common knowledge. Other nations look on with jealousy as masters of the shinobi arts appear from bloodlines long-established and brand new, generation after generation.Why have none ever questioned whether such minds were born among civilians?





	1. White

**The Forgotten**

* * *

**Chapter 1 - White**

_I didn't want to start a war without end. I never imagined I'd stand at the center of that cyclone, flanked only by those whose loyalty had never wavered, and to be utterly powerless to stop what I had unleashed._   _Through violence, I solved one problem, but sowed the seeds for many new ones. I should have realized as much, in that moment of weakness._

_Death pulls at me from across the void, ghostly arms reaching out for love or wrath, its spindly fingers tearing at my skin. But - this is not over. Not yet. Yet - if I should perish, let those who write the history books remember that I meant well. And that I am truly sorry._

* * *

"You're just a simple  _civilian_ , you can't take that kind of tone with me! Do you  _want_ to die?" The words darted over the tall man's lips with nary a blush, and his gaze was vicious as it was focused on me. The air seemed to crackle with unspent rage as the insult hung between us, but I refrained from answering. I knew better. When no challenge came, the man finally sniffed at me with a shake of his head, picked up his purchases, and left.

The silence that followed was deafening, and it only broke when I let out a long-suffering sigh that I'd been keeping in for just such an occasion. It was a small blessing that there weren't any other customers who could see my trembling hands, clasped tightly around the wooden edge of the counter, or the sweaty brow that I wiped off with my sleeve.

_One of these times, one of them will follow through..._

There was a soft shuffle behind me, and I closed my eyes in resignation. It figured he would be watching, right when I made a pathetic blunder like that. Things never seemed to go as I wanted them, especially where people were concerned.

"You're not making many friends with that rudeness of yours, you know..." Han said mildly, his hands clasped behind his back as he shuffled up to the little shop's counter. His muddled green eyes looked up at me from behind tangled eyebrows, and though pity and exasperation were etched into the old man's face, there was no anger. There never was.

"I'm sorry. I was just…"

Han cast my words aside with just a  _look._ "I know that young people are hardly fond of the old ways, but with people like  _that_ , you have to pay attention to your words."

His admonishment was nothing new, and I looked away with a blush. Six times now,I'd misjudged a person as they walked in, and on each occasion I'd ended up hating myself for the mistake, probably far more appalled than Han was. The first time it had been honest ignorance, the second an accident, but now it was simply negligence, a careless slip of the tongue.

"He didn't even have a headband," I muttered at last, a feeble defense if there ever was one. "I thought he was just another civvie, you know?"

Han raised an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Well, for someone who reads so very much, you take a long time to learn the simplest of things." He shook his head, the few remaining plucks of grey hair brushed out of his face with barely a gesture. "Ah, such is the idiocy of youth..."

Annoyance flared up from nowhere, and I gritted my teeth. "I'm twenty-four years old, I'm not a kid!" I exclaimed in protest.

Han responded with a laugh so clear and pure that it lighted up the room, and I couldn't help but relax and let anxiety fade. This was usually how it went with Han - he was entirely too forgiving. I rubbed my fingers distractedly, glad that I avoided getting splinters, and smiled reluctantly. I had fucked up - but worse things happened all the time. I could hardly complain.

"Only a few would take offense to minor disrespect, these days," Han said easily. "Most people would not even tell you even if they did get offended - freedom of speech, and all that." His expression was sincere, though his eyes were still crinkled up as if his laugh had never ended. "Just remember that some people might actually, you know..." He drew a finger across his throat, an all too clear message. "Understood, Jiron? This is for your own protection."

"...Yeah, I know what you mean. I'll try not to do it again." I slumped down on my chair, studying the hardwood floor for a long minute before I met my boss's gaze. "I'm just not any good at this sort of thing, and you know it. I told you that from the start. I get so caught up in all the numbers and measurements that I forget there's other people around, and then  _mistakes_  happen."

Han raised a bushy eyebrow. "Thoughtfulness is rarely considered a poor trait."

"It isn't - but you're putting me in front of people." I grimaced uneasily. "I get too familiar with people, I forget my place. It doesn't help that everyone sees right through my false smiles, either…" I don't even mention the times when I forget where I even am. Focusing on things to the exclusion of everything else could be an asset - diversions had little meaning to me. Here, though, it just turned me into an asshole.

"Perhaps you're right. But you mean well," my boss opines.

I couldn't hold in a snort at that. "I always do. But that hardly matters. I'm the  _worst_  salesman this side of the southern wall, and you're  _crazy_ for tolerating half of the mistakes I make, much less all of them. Back home, I'd have been thrown out three times over." I leaned back in my chair, studying the ceiling. "Sometimes, I wonder why you took me in at all…"

"Do you really mean that?" Han moved into my field of view again, his expression as calm and unperturbed as ever. "You have said such many times, but you work diligently and show a willingness to learn the ways of my trade and my village. That, my boy, is infinitely more valuable than the rest. And someday you'll master that silver tongue of yours - sometimes, it is almost too sharp."

I wondered how Han had gotten to be so damn  _wise -_ and not for the first time _._ Maybe it was just a phase that old people went through, though my own grandpa had not been half as coherent. It had to be an experience thing; Han had seen damn near everything and everyone, even the First Hokage.

"I did mean it. Taking me in was risky," I said at last, frowning. "You know what kind of people are out there, what monsters hide under the guise of a simple villager. I would be terrified to open the door to a stranger at night, much less drag one inside!"

There was pity in the old man's eyes again, and I felt like I shriveled up under that gaze. "Trust me when I say that the expectations I had have been exceeded by far," he stated. "I know that you fear what the world offers - violence, war, a murky future - but you keep your schedule, and you help an old man without complaint or even  _pay._ The risks I took has long since been repaid."

"No pay, eh? You give me food and clothes, and all the books I could hope for - that counts as far as I'm concerned. I've got everything I need." That was the honest truth - having somewhere to crash was a  _godsend_ too _,_ and I would hardly jeopardize that by demanding a paycheck. Given that there was little to nothing that I cared to buy which Han hadn't already gotten for himself, I hardly needed the bonus, either. Without the old man, I'd still be on the damn streets, trying to scrounge up an evening meal. I could never forget that.

"That sentiment, my boy, is why I keep you around," Han said reverentially, as if I'd revealed some great truth about the world. "If half the village was as selfless, this could be a very different place." He smirked. "Though I would hope they might be a little less forgetful or rude."

" _You're_ the one who is selfless here," I pointed out. "Taking in stragglers certainly counts."

"I wouldn't dare to presume." He sniffed. "Even those who do good deeds must have the money to pay their debts, though, so I greatly appreciate your help with that. It's nice to see that you've loosened up a little as well. Back when we first met…"

"Don't remind me," I muttered as I stood upright, stretching to full height, which was a good bit taller than most of the people I'd seen around town. My wiry build and rather flimsy constitution prevented me from using that size for real intimidation though, even if I dared to try that. In any case, the only feature that people ever seemed to notice was my shock of blond hair, which turned out to be a surprisingly rare color in the Land of Fire, especially among civilians.

Another comment from Han was stopped in its tracks as the old man's eyes suddenly shot to the door. The bell didn't even chime to indicate anyone entered, but I didn't need to around to know who had arrived, and a chill ran down my spine. An odd sensation already tickled at my ears and nose, warm and peppery, with a sharpness that was hard to describe. It was chakra, and there was only one person that visited this corner of town who had energy potent enough for even lowly civilians to pick up on.

"Hello, Hatake-san," I said smoothly as I turned to the entrance, smiling in recognition despite my earlier faux-pas with one of his colleagues. My smile didn't reach my eyes, though - not with him. "How may I help you today?"

* * *

_To read is to sustain the soul, that is what my mother taught me. She cared little for it herself, quipping that she'd sold her soul long ago, but she sated my appetite for new information as much as she could. She brought more and more volumes on every journey out of the country, those times when she would wander far afield for months at a time. Until, one day, the books stopped coming - and so did she._

_When I was twelve, my collection had grown to encompass an entire room - by twenty, there was no nook or cranny left anywhere that would fit more than a scroll. Among those stacks, man-high, there was none I had not read before. The library was a treasure trove, a goldmine - there were facts there that could topple rulers, treatises that brought to ruin the very finest of intellectual achievements._

_I burned them all, so that none could steal them away._

* * *

My feet dangled over the roof's edge as I looked down and imagined jumping. I thought of landing in an amazing three-point crouch, as a shinobi would - or on the side of the building, perhaps. The sun slowly made its way down the sky in the distance, painting the horizon with reddish colors, and the dull glow highlighted the great stone faces that looked out over the village. I paid no mind to that, however. I was contemplating doing something very,  _very_ stupid.

Three months had passed since I arrived in the village of Konoha, the Hidden Village in the Leaves, but it felt like  _years._ I never really intended to move to Fire Country; not until rebellion and economic collapse left my village without a future. Tea Country fell prey to bandits and lowlifes, and with my family gone, there was no reason for me to stay there. I'd set off with only the clothes on my back, hitchhiking my way across the continent by offering my services to passing caravans, and ended up at the end of the road.

Many things were different from my sleepy little home on the outskirts of civilization, not the least of which was the heavy presence of shinobi everywhere you went in the village. Though traders and caravans had occasionally hired guards, the only ninja I'd learned about back home were the ones that had whole books written about them, or who were writers themselves. A few shinobi passed through the village on occasion, but they were always silent, and their expressions cold as ice.

Far from the stories of dashing heroes and glorious combat, real shinobi were  _terrifying_ to behold. It wasn't surprising, really, and I'd already told myself off for my warped expectations. Violent and capricious, ninja tended to be paranoid to a fault, and each and every one of them was a force of nature. The lowliest of Genin was quite capable of cutting someone's throat, of wrestling a full-grown man to the ground with disturbingly little effort; as a civilian, I had less than nothing to defend myself with.

Konoha was an eye-opener - the idealistic world of storybooks brought to life with all the roughness and bloody edges that reality worked with. I'd come to a village where killers were trained from childhood _._  Here, all the stories I'd read were brought into startling reality.

I was a pacifist in a warrior's heaven.

The first time I'd walked into Konoha's center, obliviously strolling into unknown territory, I froze at all the suspicious eyes that followed my every step. Eyes of cold steel watched me from under colder steel inscribed with the village's symbol - and not with kindness. Suffice to say, getting involved in ninja business was  _not_ my intent. I'd quickly made my way to the less insane parts of town, where people didn't vault from roof to roof like they were in a circus act, and convinced myself not to run away, not to tuck my tail between my legs and scamper back to the obscurity of my oppressed home, risking the bandits if it meant there were no shinobi to deal with.

After that disturbing wake-up call, I'd spent hours wandering the streets - the civilian sector spanned the majority of the village, and the streets all seemed the same. Dehydrated and hungry from being on my feet for nearly two days before even reaching the village, and too terrified to take a nap among dozens of accusing eyes, I'd finally dropped down behind a cozy-looking house half a dozen blocks from the nearest shinobi residence, and got some much-needed shut-eye.

And I woke up in a bed.

Han Nohara, the man who had discovered me napping in his garden, turned out to be a  _hell_ of a guy. At seventy-two years of age he didn't get around too quickly, but he'd still somehow managed to drag my exhausted ass into his house before the cold rain could give me a nice case of pneumonia. When I'd jumped out of the bed in shock, and then managed to get myself awkwardly tangled with the blankets while falling on my face, the man had burst into laughter. I´d snickered despite myself, and so a truce was declared without a single word.

He had insisted that I stick around for dinner and tea, even though I was tempted to get the hell out, and ultimately I'd relented. I figured the stranger clearly had a few screws loose, if they took in people that slept on their porch, but I was hungry enough that I didn't much care. Han decided that if I didn't have a home to go to, I could consider his couch my new bed.

For lack of a better option, I'd reluctantly accepted, realizing that having a warm place and some grub was better than living on the street. I then introduced myself as Jiron, which was at best a former nickname of mine, but Han seemed unperturbed by my hesitance. And there, warming myself to a cup of tea as firewood crackled in the hearth, I felt  _safe_ for the first time in months.

It took only minutes after I was left to rest until I spotted the books and scrolls that lined one wall of Han´s little house, most of them old and worn. There were a lot of titles that I didn't recognize from my own collection, and I'd spent ages combing through the vast amounts that my village had gathered over the years. I'd spent a long afternoon just reading, which was how Han found me at the end of the day, two great tomes spread out on the table while I was cross-referencing with another. It took him several long minutes before he'd finally spoken up.

I was rather embarrassed to realize that my host hadn't actually thought I could manage something as elementary as reading. Evidently, very few wandering youths had much in the way of literacy, and he had assumed I was an uneducated street-rat like the rest of them. When he was disabused of that notion, however, a speculative gleam had appeared in his eyes. It took not even a full day before he offered me a job at his shop. I took it with both hands, of course, and I'd have thrown in my feet too if I thought it'd make a difference. I'd have tolerated cleaning duty if it meant I had a place to stay.

Months passed as I helped Han run his little shop of curiosities, and I began to adapt to living in a big place like Konoha, so far removed from home. By necessity, I learned how to survive in the shadow of the jutsu-flinging terrors that dominated the center of town. Adjusting to actually performing civilized and formal habits was pretty hard, even if I'd long read about such things, but I was getting better. Maybe, someday, I could strike out on my own and make an honest living.

The moment I imagined a calm future, of course, was like a strike upon a gong of doom.

A familiar face had walked through the door of Han's shop on an unremarkable day; he was the first person I recognized from my books _._ Though his puffy face betrayed a startling lack of sleep, and his bloodshot eyes were marred by pain, that silver hair was unmistakable.

Sharp chakra seared in my nose, and the man's friendly expression was mimicked by my own, but something in me  _broke._ I recognized something profoundly disturbing in his expression, and though I could not pinpoint what it was that made me so uneasy, it felt as if the ground gave way, like the world would swallow me up right then and there.

I realized I'd been staring when Han said my name with some urgency, probably for a second time, and I managed to seamlessly finish the transaction - but that momentary flash of insight wouldn't let itself be forgotten, and I mulled about it for days.

That was a week ago, and now that man had returned. I could see him below me, shopping at a fishmonger across the street, as if reluctant to leave. I had found him in Han's books, and re-familiarized myself with all the publicly available information, scarce as it was. Then I listened to the rumors that I'd thus far been ignoring, inquiring offhandedly about the man when I'd next gone out to buy groceries - and people were all too happy to talk.

I wasn't sure he'd ever come back - but when he did, I knew exactly what to look for. His expression was as bad as before, his voice listless and his eyes dim. There was no mistake; my intuition had been flawless in this instance, and a rational analysis did nothing but confirm it.

Startling resolve smashed my sworn intent to stay away from all things that involved shinobi. Yes, I was a coward who would rather stay in obscurity - but I damn well wasn't going to let injustice happen right in front of my eyes. I stood up, fear making way for what could charitably be called courage, and I headed downstairs.

* * *

_I am a learned man - I pride myself on knowing many things, on being aware of all the secret wheels upon wheels that keep the world spinning, that make our systems tick. Even the worst of fools knows the value of loyalty and courage though, and while I gathered allies without nefarious intent, I surely take advantage of my hard-won assets._

_Without allies, I would never have survived my first year among assassins - I would have been forgotten in the refuse pile of history. Perhaps that would have been preferable, in retrospect, but we must play with the pieces we have been given._

_And mine were very good._

* * *

I stepped out of the shop hesitantly, my simple clothes blending in with the people around me, and sought my quarry. The first time that man had entered the shop, I'd been surprised, even shocked at my thoughts; still  _he_ had scarcely even looked at me. This time, however, he had seemed intrigued, which was a poor omen when dealing with assassins.

And yet, I was doing the unthinkable. With an odd sense of relief, and a spark of terror, I found that my target had refrained from using his ninja speed techniques to leave me in the dust. Instead, he sauntered away, a wrapped piece of fish under his arm alongside the basket of spices he'd bought from me. His long, silver hair swayed in the breeze as he made his way along the streets of the civilian sector, his head bowed and his hands deep in his pockets. If not for his clothes, I would hardly have guessed he was a ninja at all. He looked - defeated.

I wasn't  _stupid_ enough _,_ of course, to believe that the man was oblivious to my presence. You didn't become a legend chronicled in history books without having situational awareness, and I was hardly as sneaky as even the weakest shinobi would be. So I trudged along easily, not even trying to hide my presence, and pondered about what I could say, what I could  _do._ Because if nobody did anything - and I doubted anyone would - then soon a legend would die.

Hatake Sakumo, the legendary White Fang of the Leaf, was going to kill himself.

I didn't know the man, scarcely even knew the legend, but I recognized heart-felt misery when I saw it, and the doomed gaze of someone who aimed his weapon at his own heart. The rumors about the White Fang were toxic, the implications of the public's response rather disturbing. But above all, there was the  _child_. I'd read plenty about that eight-year old genius, already making waves in the shinobi village with his displays of raw talent. That boy deserved to have a father.

Nearly fifteen minutes after he left the shop behind, Sakumo finally changed directions, turning towards a side-alley with barely a glance back - though I was sure that even if he did, I'd miss it. I knew this part of town, and it set my teeth on edge when I realized how many suspicious eyes passed me by. Still, very few seemed to care about me. Most of their focus was aimed at my target, who seemed to shrink into himself as their gazes landed on him, though his steps did not falter. There weren't any spoken words, no shouts and yells of derision as I'd halfway expected. Just silent disapproval and disgust, a simmering judgment.

In the grand scheme, perhaps that was far worse.

As the trek wore on, my reluctance at approaching shinobi was overshadowed by my decision to try and be of help - I'd come too far to back out now. The busy streets made way for more spacious lanes that contained larger households, and I knew that if I left now, and in a few days or weeks the news of Hatake's death would reach me, and I would never forgive myself for failing.

I didn't realize the man had stopped until I almost walked into him, too immersed in my own thoughts. He halted before the unmarked door of one of the homesteads, slight confusion in his eyes as he considered me from over his shoulder, though mostly he just seemed tired. He cracked open his door, stepped through, and then left it open behind him.

Taking a long, daring breath, I followed.

The inside of the house was - traditional. Unlike the simple little houses in the civilian sector, the Hatake household, because that's what it had to be, seemed to be set up very much as ancient homes were usually described. Paper-like walls were stretched out between rooms, and the guest room contained a table that scarcely came halfway to my knee. Long and complicated scrolls were displayed on the walls, many of which had artistic depictions of dog, and on one of the few wooden walls, a dozen blades were arrayed below each other, each of them gleaming bright in the eerie light that flowed in from the windows.

Sakumo stood by a doorway that led deeper into the house, his expression guarded, even a little pensive. He slowly removed a sword from his back, as if aware that quick movement would be startling to a civilian, and placed it on the wall with its brethren. He hardly needed such a tool, I thought distantly - he would certainly have dozens of kunai hidden on his person.

"Jiron-san," he said slowly. "I am unsure as to why you followed me."

There was a long silence as I sought for words. "I know…" I stammered momentarily. Even now, I could barely meet his eyes. "I know that you're in pain, Hatake-san."

He huffed and raised an eyebrow mockingly. "To be a shinobi is to know pain." He removed his gloves and headband, ruffling his silver puff of hair. "That's not a new discovery among civilians, I trust? Is that why you followed me into my home? How presumptuous."

"It's not." There was a brief, solemn silence. "Besides, I don't believe a shinobi's duty is just to know pain. That's asinine," I added, half-formed thoughts resolving into words, thoughts from my books merging with my own. "A shinobi  _endures_ hardship and pain, doesn't he?"

Sakumo looked at me for a long moment, his eyes haunted. "Endurance, huh? I've been told something like that before - but not by you." He turned away, shaking his head idly. "It's simple-minded idealism."

"Maybe. But you might have heard it from Jiraiya of the Sannin," I suggested calmly, considering the treatises on the Third Hokage's work that the notoriously inattentive shinobi had written early in his career. Even Han had copies of  _those._  "That man certainly believes as much, as does his teacher, the Third. And of course so did Hashirama Senju, our First Hokage. The man who exemplified the Will of Fire. They are all wise men, so perhaps you should consider their suggestions."

Sakumo's stare lingered this time, and a hardness moved across his face for a moment, a cold flash of suspicion. When I said nothing in response, he seemed to relax a little, and he gestured to the far side of the small table that stood in the center of the room.

"Please, be seated. I will get us tea."

For a long moment after Sakumo turned his back, I was tempted to cut and run. But I knew that I'd be hunted down without trouble if the man cared to do so, and there had been no word of threat yet. Very slowly, careful not to disturb the room, I squatted by the offered table, shuffling in place until I found comfort on the hardwood. I stared at the shōgi set that was set up on the table, unfinished - perhaps a game between father and son.

To keep my mind off worrying about what I might say, well aware that I would be far more likely to trip myself up by over-thinking things, I considered the best next move my side should make in the game. I knew that Sakumo was probably sending a message about me right then, perhaps to the Hokage himself, but I hardly cared. If the Third would tell me off for spreading his own message to someone who needed it, then I would gladly debate the topic with him. Sarutobi-sama's deliberations on the Will of Fire had been enlightening, speaking of the man's character, just as Jiraiya's had. Out of all the village's shinobi, those were perhaps the ones I was most familiar with.

Finally, after a few long minutes, I moved a piece on the board. It seemed as if Sakumo had been waiting for that, as he softly stepped back into the room. The silver-haired man took his place across from me, setting down a platter with two cups of steaming tea, doubtlessly made in seconds with an application of chakra. It smelled rather delicious.

"You made an interesting move," he spoke after a moment. "Have you played before, then?"

"Yes - but only against Nohara-san," I murmured. "I've mastered another variation of shōgi which doesn't seem to be very popular around the village, though. Most of the thinking required is similar, so I've only lost twice." I smirked. "I won a competition in the past, though the victory was hard-fought. A less strenuous battle than a shinobi's, I'm sure."

"Interesting," Sakumo said, his eyes focused on the board for a moment. "You are bold for a civilian."

"Or foolish."

He smiled, a thin gleam of teeth momentary visible as he moved a tile. "I doubt  _that_. You are insightful, or perhaps I am imagining the look I see in your eyes when you meet mine." He shook his head slowly. "You speak of shinobi matters easily, but you were clearly never taught the arts. Why is that?"

I moved a tile in response to his move, part of me trying to figure out his next one - mildly interested in measuring myself against this so-called genius - while I considered my answer. "I read a lot, including shinobi material. I'm interested in what goes on, though only peripherally in the ways of the ninja themselves. I care more about the way they function."

"Know thine enemy?" Sakumo asked sardonically, frowning at the board as he made his move. "I've seen the way you watch shinobi on the street, or even myself. If not for your daring steps into this room, I'd say you're afraid."

"Of course I am," I responded flatly. "I'm also scared of venomous snakes, and snarling tigers. A shinobi is twice as lethal as either of those, even at the best of times. Fear is  _sensible._ On the other hand - we tend to fear what we don't understand." I shoved one of my tiles across the board with a small smile, and enjoyed the momentary expression of surprise on Sakumo's face as one of his own pieces took a tumble.  _Got you._

"You think you know me enough to follow me into my own home?" Sakumo inquired, the slight wrinkles at the corner of his mouth curling up the tiniest bit. "We have hardly ever met, Jiron-san. I question your snap-judgment."

"Hm. But just as we fear what we don't yet know, the reverse is true as well. You cannot truly come to know that which you fear. I resolved the paradox by taking a leap of faith," I explained, staring out at the encroaching darkness outside the windows as I drank my tea. "You know what I saw when you first walked into Nohara-san's shop. I think you even recognized that I saw it, and that is why you came back. I am probably the first to notice, and that surprised you, just as it did for me."

"Hm. Insightful - spookily so." Sakumo frowned as he stared at the board, probably in order to avoid my eyes. "Are you  _sure_ you're not a shinobi?"

"Yes. I can't even channel chakra," I admitted with a shrug. "I've never learned how to, and I'm probably too old now for it to make a difference. And I don't want to throw myself in with your lot, anyway, given how pitifully short your lives tend to be." That got a wince out of him, if a small one. Good. "The reason that for my - insight - is that I read a lot, and knowledge can sometimes lead to understanding. You're aware that I know what happened last month."

He nodded darkly. "I assumed as much. The story is everywhere, now." He sighed. "Even..." He stopped himself, but I could guess the rest of what he would have said.

"Yes. I know all the details that have been publicized - and some that haven't. You acted as you should have, from all that I've heard. Even based on descriptions by your detractors, you acted honorably," I argued. "Your mission was important, of course, and failure is terrible. But to leave behind the people you trust..." I scoffed as I put down my cup. "That would be a far greater failure yet. Anyone who thinks differently is simply  _wrong._ "

"You make it sound so cut and dry," Sakumo observed neutrally.

"That's because it  _is,_ " I snapped, not discouraged by his apathy. "Yes, a mission ended terribly, and you get scorn for that failure. But your teammates came back alive, and the next time they go out and complete a mission, that's  _thanks to you._ And anyone they save will also be people  _you saved._ Don't forget that for a second." I gestured at the board between us. "It is a disastrous long-term strategy to put the mission above all else. If you keep sacrificing all your pieces, you will inevitably lose. Far better to show restraint."

Sakumo frowned. "Ah, but even in shōgi, sacrifice is important. Those who are too hesitant to act will be overrun. You cannot get around losing pieces altogether."

"Eh, that's true. But then we're not talking about unnecessary sacrifices anymore," I countered. "To guard and protect the  _King_ , you would sacrifice anything on the board, even the most useful pieces. But those sacrifices could only be made if the pieces to do so are still present, if they have not been spent unnecessarily. It is better to keep your strength in reserve than to spend it without forethought, and then be caught empty-handed."

"All to protect the King, huh?" the silver-haired shinobi inquired gently, his gaze sharp. "And who is that?"

"Can you guess?" I inquired mildly. "The Third Hokage came up with this analogy, you know. He kept the answer to your question vague, so that people would need to think about his words." I smiled mischievously. "I believe it goes a long way to explaining why I decided I should talk to you, despite all the risks." I tapped the king on my side of the board. "What should such a piece represent, do you think? Who must we guard, even lowly civilians like myself, so that the dream of the Leaf continues?"

Sakumo leaned forward, his eyes brimming with more life than I remembered seeing in them since we first met, and he stared at the shōgi board with a strange intensity. It betrayed his indecision, or perhaps even his wish for the lifeline I was offering. I thought back to Han's home, to that beautifully written copy of the Third's commencement speech, and I silently thanked him for his unwitting help. Though Sakumo certainly knew the answer on some level - perhaps he needed a little reminder.

"...Hm? Did I hear talking in here…?" asked a muffled voice, and I glanced up to the door in surprise. Wiping his bleary eyes, his lower face covered by a black mask while a wildly tangled tuft of silver hair hung haphazardly down his face, Sakumo's son looked for all the world like a regular eight-year old child - if they were at a particularly weird costume party.

"...Kakashi-kun," Sakumo whispered carefully, and he glanced back to me momentarily with a strange expression. "Ah, I'm sorry that I woke you - I forgot you had a night shift yesterday. I thought you were still out."

"It's alright, it doesn't matter." Kakashi said as he looked over to me, puzzled. "Who're you?"

I sipped from my drink as I met the boy's eyes, and I could see the hard steel of shinobi life already, though his expression was genuinely perplexed; I doubted he had been listening in. I raised a hand distractedly. "Ah, I am Jiron. Your father - invited me." I smiled thinly. "I'm sorry if we woke you with our game. I will try to be more quiet."

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes flickering to the table, and he blinked in surprise. "Hey… You're actually winning against my dad?"

"Hm. It does seem so," Sakumo murmured noncommittally, a smile flickering across his face as he looked at his son. "I was never very good at this, you know - I should see if the Nara boy would come by, I'm told he has never lost a game in his life."

"Shikaku-san is kind of boring, though," Kakashi said with a cross expression, before he took a step back, pausing in the doorway. "I guess you're still busy with things, then - so I won't bother you anymore. Night, dad."

"Sleep well, Kakashi."

The door closed slowly behind him, and for a long few minutes, Sakumo and I listened to Kakashi's distant steps as he headed back to his room. The silence was not uncomfortable, and I realized with surprise that I was calm, which was peculiar given the shinobi legend who sat across from me, entirely in his own element. I guess I understood him at least a little, now.

"So, that is what you meant with the King, huh?" Sakumo said as he looked at me with sharp eyes. "...I see what you were trying to say."

"Do you, really?" I picked up the King piece from my board, flipping it and catching it from the air. "You have been disgraced, and your family name is tainted, at least for the time being. The answer to this problem seems obvious to you, and I witnessed that reflected in your eyes the first time we met. Unfortunately, your solution is flawed. You are not that much of a coward."

He winced, harsher this time.  _Good._

"Consider that I am a  _civilian_ , Hatake-san. I could not hope to catch a punch from a shinobi without breaking bones, nor meet one's blade without bleeding. But there are some things that all people share, masters of chakra or not. It is our collective task to protect the next generation, whether they are our own children or those of others, so that they make take over from us when the time comes. That is what the Third Hokage meant with his analogy."

I leaned over as I steepled my hands together, meeting Sakumo's eyes. "Nohara-san took me in out of the goodness of his heart, and I work to repay him for that every day. I have no fame, nor a name worth a single coin. I don't have children to teach, nor am I likely to produce any in the near future. I am nobody - and yet I endure the hardships that are put in my way. If one such as I can do that, what excuse could a legend like you have to abandon his life, or his child?"

"Now you do sound like Jiraiya-san," Sakumo said dryly.

"I take that as a compliment. He is a lot wiser than people give him credit for." I leaned back slightly, meeting the other man's eyes. "The whispers that speak of you will fade, and in time your mistakes will be forgiven - trust me on that. Meanwhile, your son will grow up under your tutelage, and he can take up his father's legacy when the time comes, and do it with honor..." I shook my head. "And not in grief."

Sakumo grimaced. "You speak too easily of these things. I can't go out onto the battlefield again, and risk another disaster because I might show the same -  _weakness._  I - " He swallowed thickly. "No - I can't."

"Then don't do that," I said flatly, and he paused.

"...What are you saying?" He looked genuinely baffled.

"You remain one of the village's greatest shinobi, an expert in many ways of fighting, right?" In asked rhetorically. "You already have a proven track record that you will look out for your team, no matter what else, something which is vital for low-ranking missions. You know that Genin must have time to grow up - the King must be protected. Kakashi-kun would love to learn from you, of course, and there are others that you could teach. The Third would hardly deny such a request."

Sakumo narrowed his eyes. "You're suggesting I - take a Genin team?  _Me?_ "

"Is that so strange? No shinobi would blame Genin for the sins of their teacher, and by doing something like this, you could give yourself time to deal with what happened, allow the village to calm down and move on. You can reassess the situation in a year or so. I am sure that things will look rather less bleak then."

Sakumo was silent for a long while, and his gaze lingered on the board, as if it could give him answers. Finally, he looked up again. "I - will consider your suggestion," he mused. "I can bring it up with Hokage-sama when I see him. It has been many years since I last had a team, and I hardly remember such days..."

"A welcome change, I would say. You are old for a shinobi, Hatake-san - perhaps it is time to come to terms with that." I smiled. "Maybe you can write a book. I promise you'll have at least one avid reader."

The White Fang shook his head and looked away, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You are a very strange person, Jiron-san."

"I am a scholar, after a fashion. Nothing more," I muttered, and as I made my last move on the board, I stood up. "I'll head back home before Nohara-san becomes worried. I hope that you take my words to heart - and that we'll speak again in this life."

He nodded shortly, his frame still betraying his exhaustion, but his eyes were sharp and lively.

I would wait for his return at my counter.


	2. Lesson in Pain

**Chapter 2 - Lesson in Pain**

* * *

 

I'd spotted  _them_ the instant I exited Sakumo's home. There was a bright flash in the corner of my eye, the briefest of flickers that lingered on my retina. For a few seconds in which my body refused to move, I tried to convince myself that I'd imagined it, that there was nothing there in the dark - but I knew it was a waste of time to second-guess myself.

They were too good to be seen so easily, I thought with a hint of desperation; I had only been able to follow Sakumo because he allowed it. That man had walked slowly to let my pathetically unfit self catch up. This flash of white, though, that flicker of cloth and a face, it had to have been an intentional show of speed. A truth revealed just long enough that I'd see it, that I'd  _know._

The ANBU - they had to be delivering a warning, or perhaps a message.

The Hokage knew about me.

I slowly managed to hobble back towards home, flitting my gaze nervously from roof to roof, from shop to shop, but there were no more sightings along the way. Tempted as I was to break into an awkward run, I knew there was no point - I could no more outrun a Chūnin then Sakumo himself. I just had to pray that the Hokage didn't look on my actions and see me as a liability. Because if he did - well, there was little doubt what would happen to me.

As streets passed me by, however, more rational arguments took over from the flighty and nervous twitching. Sarutobi Hiruzen was the strongest of all shinobi in the village, sure, but sheer power hardly made much difference. Now,  _politically_ the Hokage was far more influential than some ordinary thug would be, but from what I'd read the man was not pointlessly cruel. Given the right circumstances, having someone like that on my side could be a great advantage.

I wiped sweat of my brow as I finally made it the last stretch back home, without a single shinobi crossing my path. The ANBU were not there to bring me in, then - they'd have pounced long before, when I was still openly in the street. Such a thing would hardly have been questioned. It has been a message, then: perhaps that I should refrain from interfering again, or that any funny business would be ruthlessly punished. Regardless, I would find out when Sakumo returned.

Han was already waiting for me in the door, squinting into the night. "...What was that all about?" he inquired wearily as he frowned. He looked me over swiftly. "Well, he didn't cut you, at least. Haven't I taught you  _anything_ about messing with shinobi folk?"

I shrugged helplessly. "It was fine. I just needed to talk to him, that's all."

"Talk? You followed a killer into the dark to  _talk?_ " Han scoffed as he shook his head nervously. "Are you completely insane, boy? Shinobi are dangerous _,_ you know that!Especially  _that_ one!"

The comment was so casual that I gaped for a long moment. Han, the most nonjudgmental and accepting person I knew, was buying into the public rumors, the ones that even I had a hard time taking seriously? This had to be more widespread than I'd considered.

"...What's  _that_ supposed to mean?" I asked at last.

The old man shrugged. "You know, don't you? He's the  _White Fang!_ That man's got more heads on his name than anyone I've ever heard of - even the Sannin don't come close to that sort of carnage, let me tell you…"

I let out the tiniest of sighs. "Ah, I knew that. I've read about him. Figured you were going on about something else..."

"You mean his stirring up a hornet's nest? He did manage to get a lot of people upset," Han agreed mildly. "Now, come in before you catch a cold - or a knife in the back, you never know." He motioned inside, glancing warily into the darkened street. "And if you have to talk to people like that, do it somewhere well-lit and public, for crying out loud! Getting killed is no way to do business!"

I had half a mind to protest, but I finally just went to my room with a resigned sigh, my thoughts racing. Adrenalin still surged in my veins, and I could use the sharpness it brought.

With the moon out in the night sky, I was still thinking about the meeting a few hours later, pondering what it meant to have the Hokage watching my steps. I had no doubt that the ANBU would be checking up on me, now that they'd so blatantly hinted at their presence. Still, with a feeling of resignation, I finally succumbed to uneasy sleep.

Despite my run-in with Sakumo and his problems, life went on as usual in the days that followed, and one might think that nothing happened at all. Yet, after the daily habit of running the shop, getting groceries, and generally spending my time helping out Han, I secluded myself in my room and pulled out books that were slowly accumulating around my desk. Now that I had found a whole new avenue of research that got me interested enough that I'd personally walked into the lion's den, I could scarcely let it go.

I spent long hours studying Han's books, and gathering new ones. Three large tomes were spread out on my desk - one covered the Third Hokage's considerable reign in detail, another chronicled the Second Shinobi World War, and the last was a rather esoteric volume on the psychology of the shinobi, written by a Yamanaka expert. It was invaluable - an analysis of ninja, as described by ninja. None of the books really helped much, though, since I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Understanding, perhaps, beyond the idealist images of the shinobi that I was so familiar with. I was trying to figure out what made Konoha tick.

In my meeting with Sakumo, I had appealed to the ideal of the shinobi that even he shared, and led him towards the matter of the next generation. I offered him ways to invest himself in the future without returning to the well-trodden paths of his life. Idealistic - perhaps. But it was, as far as I could tell, the only way that he might find his way out of the darkness. Even as I'd argued for those points, though, I had already been thinking about the next battle I'd have to fight, should Sakumo decide to lay down the knife. I foresaw a much steeper climb ahead.

Why was it, I wondered darkly, that the village was so hateful towards Sakumo in the first place? What was so  _terrible_ about saving lives, even at the cost of a mission, that it could drive a man to seek the end? Chalking it all up to honor was easy - it made people do foolish things. But that hardly seemed a satisfying answer when dealing with someone like Sakumo, who clearly knew exactly how dishonorable a shinobi's life could be, having lived it for decades.

Something else was driving this. And it was festering.

Even from my brief months in its busy streets, and my limited exposure to the rougher side of life in Konoha, something was bothering me about the superficially prosperous village. At first, I thought it was just a bias on my end, hailing from the small towns, and I put my criticisms aside. Now, though, the picture was becoming clearer - and I did not much like what it showed.

I'd read about Konoha, as I did about so many things, and its  _ideal_ was what had brought me here, what convinced me to travel into a village that hosted shinobi by the hundreds. Stories of the place spoke of great heroes, valiant leaders that sacrificed their lives for their people, and a proud tradition.

Something was  _off_ about the reality, compared to those lofty descriptions. At some point during its reign, people had turned away from the great ideals that had formed their village, and begun returning to a mentality that had been a mainstay for centuries. They retreated from modernity, slowly crawling back to darker times.

Formed to end the in-fighting among clans and families that dominated the previous era, when closest family and their honor were more important than anything else, Konoha had been Hashirama Senju's dream - the First Hokage's vision of a stable shinobi society. But, it seemed, with his untimely death had gone that indomitable spirit, and decay was setting in. It was a rot that would have to be cured - or excised.

Pride, that's what I heard in the voices of those who spread the rumors about Sakumo, and it was the poison that had bothered me since my arrival. It was not the regular, tolerable kind of pride, but the haughty, self-important tone of the ideologue. These people thought of Konoha itself as a  _goal,_ rather than a means to an end as it was intended to be. The  _metaphor_ for the ideal of cooperation had turned into an ideal all its own, without any of its noble heritage, and it was held up as sacrosanct by firm hands. Patriotism had sprouted into something uglier, which could go in very  _bad_ directions if given the wrong push.

Believing in one's village was great, but sacrificing the  _intent_ behind its existence to preserve meaningless prestige, that meant one had already lost sight of what was important. Without the original spirit backing the village's existence, it was just a skeleton of an idea, an empty shell - no longer Konoha in anything but name.

And this, I reflected bitterly, this was the world that children would grow up in, knowing only violence and decay for their entire lives. And every year would be a little bit worse, since without a promise of a better future, the dream of Konoha would suffer and dwindle, its shinobi spent. In due time, clans long-united would break apart, either dwindling to insignificance or violently ripping themselves free, and war would reign again.

I didn't care for ninjas - I only knew  _one,_ and he was in a sorry state. But I cared about people, and it was clear that even those who threw around fireballs and lightning were more than just killers without emotion. And war would do more than just rip up the defenses of the Land of Fire - or any of its neighbors - but also the very civilian population I represented. I'd argued to Sakumo that civilians dealt with the dangers of the world, too, with none of the shinobi's power. Was I really going to retreat now, shirk back out of fear when I'd so boldly set the first step forward?

There were few roads to a better future that I could see, and only focused will and action could change the world's path. Perhaps a great disaster would come along, tragic enough to unite Konoha's people amongst each other despite personal differences, but it was a sorry thing to consider. It would have to be a war, greater than any before, which would put the lowliest Chūnin next to the greatest ANBU, and remind them both that the reason they fought was not the buildings they walked amongst, but the people they shared them with. They would carry the Leaf on their memories of shared pain.

That could work, but it would be a  _bad_ future, a destructive one, governed only by fear. My revulsion at that idea came not only from squeamishness, but from the histories I'd read - such a conflict would destroy more than just peace before it was over. In time, the shared pain would become divided pain - and the story would begin again. Except this time, it would be even more brutal.

So, what then? What could a lowly civilian do to stop a tide like that? What could books and penmanship do to preserve that which even the First Hokage could not keep safe beyond his life? I had no idea - but when I'd stepped into Sakumo's home, involved myself in the affairs of even one shinobi, I knew that my decision had been made already. I was a recent immigrant, true, but I'd admired the concept of Konoha long before I'd seen the reality. It was  _that_ which I treasured, and now that I was here, I could not see it go to ruin.

"You shinobi are going to be the death of me," I murmured as I stared out the window. I didn't know if there were any ANBU listening, I just needed to hear myself say it. More than likely, the whole crazy venture would end in my demise. But - nothing risked, nothing gained. Inaction would be far worse on my conscience.

And if I could not use brawn in this new arena, populated as it was with monsters, then perhaps I should wield another weapon. The mind, in the end, could be the sharpest blade of all.

So when the time was right, I would strike.

* * *

_I have many scars. Some physical, some deeper. There are a few that I remember always, which I cannot forget even in dreams. They are memories of choices to be learned from, warnings of mistakes that I made. S_ _ymbols of my ignorance._

* * *

"Are you  _still_ awake, boy?" Han wondered aloud as he glanced into my room with narrowed eyes, a few days after my return. "You do know it's two past midnight?"

"I am well aware. I don't need much sleep," I murmured shortly, barely looking up from my book as I nibbled on my pencil. "There's a fascinating account of the First Hokage's life that I intend to start on tomorrow, so I wanted to finish this volume today." I shrugged lightly. "Don't worry - I'll keep quiet, nobody will even know I'm here."

Han shuffled closer, frowning. "So, you've been doing this for the past few days, haven't you? That's why it took such a long time to wake you in the morning." He shook his head. "It's not healthy, you know. You're a young man, you'll surely wreck your eyes, and I can't have you falling asleep in the middle of the day!"

"I'll get glasses if the former happens, and I've done just fine with the latter so far." I dropped my pencil to the desk, sighing. "Honestly, I still get all my chores done, don't I? I figured I could do with my own time what I wished - sleep or otherwise." I followed his gaze to my books, and smiled. "Some of these I borrowed, others I took from the library three blocks over - I'll return them later. Don't tell anyone, I don't actually have a card."

The old man shrugged, and then his brow furrowed. "...What's that you're reading, anyway?" He leaned against my chair as he massaged his knees, eyes fixed on the book. "... _Ninjutsu_  theory?" He glanced at me, startled. "You want to become a shinobi? At your age?"

"No, I don't - I've said that often enough." I closed the book, tapping the cover distractedly. "When you deal with shinobi - or with anyone, for that matter - the first step should be to learn about them, to understand them at least a little. I find that it's quite - illuminating."

"So you're not practicing this stuff, right?" Han inquired as he looked around nervously as he scanned the names on the other books. "I don't want people to become nervous around here, and having a would-be shinobi in the attic, well…"

"I wouldn't even know how, anyway," I muttered. "This is about understanding, not about performing. Though sometimes I'm half-tempted to figure out chakra, just to get a proper night-light." I poked out a tongue.

"And what all this for?" Han wondered, gesturing to my collection. "Why would you  _want_ to be involved with  _them?_ I thought it was just some momentary interest you took to our - customer. _"_

"I'm trying to get into their heads," I said slowly. "The shinobi are a part of this village too, you know - a big part. But a lot of people seem to think that they toss around fireballs for the hell of it, like they're all bratty children with no restraint. I was just trying to figure out why shinobi work that way - what's behind all of it."

"I wouldn't know," Han muttered, glancing aside.

"Hm. A large part of it, I'm gathering, is based on clans and families," I noted soberly. "Chakra-natures tend to be inherited, so whole clans specialize in particular techniques, such as the Uchiha and their fire-based jutsu. It's a remnant of the era of clan wars, I imagine. The big flashy techniques were basically advertisements - showing off your heritage and power in one strike. When Konoha was formed, those clans joined together, but they still like their independence."

"...So?"

"That explains a lot of the stories I've read - and it's useful knowledge to have. Not every fact has to be instantly applicable. And you never know when it  _is,_ until you are suddenly faced with that situation." I got up, stretching, the heavy book under my arm. "Anyway, I can tell that you don't care for my interest. Fine - I'll pick it up tomorrow. It  _is_ pretty late, you're right about -"

_Flash._

I paused mid-word as I turned ever so slightly to my side. I'd been checking for movement in the window ever since I sighted one of the ANBU, back when I'd left Sakumo's place. For the first time, I'd actually  _seen_ something. A momentary glimmer of light had bounced up from the street, right in front of the house. I'd recognized the gleam of metal.

"Why'd you stop? What's going on?" Han inquired, but I hushed him with a glance.

"It's probably nothing, but…" I whispered in response, biting my lip as the worst possible scenarios occurred to me, hoping for once that I had just spotted an ANBU. I took a soft step away from the window, gesturing to the door.

Then, between one moment and the next, the window  _exploded._

The first blow came before I'd even turned around to escape, a meaty fist impacting just below my shoulder with incredibly force, pain erupting as I let out a half-choked scream. There was blood - I didn't know from where - and I was falling. I couldn't tell which way was up.

I tumbled to the hard ground, rolling across the hardwood floor, my eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as pain ripped through my side. I could hear someone shout from far away, but my mind refused to resolve the sounds into coherent words, refused to do anything but scream obscenities and  _panic._

He was  _fast -_ faster than I could deal with, and the second hit was as vicious as the first.  _Shinobi,_ my mind supplied eagerly, but I had no time for analyzing anything - there was just a surge of fear. I forced my sluggish body, still reeling from the last blow, to protect itself from the next one.

My arms came up haltingly, but something heavy was in their way. I panicked, trying to shove it away, but I failed. I couldn't get my bearings - things didn't make any sense. It was dark, and I wasn't sure why; belatedly, I realized my eyes weren't open.

There was a sudden solid  _thunk_ asa jolt of pain shot through me  _-_ had something hit me?

No - not  _me,_ I realized. I managed to pry open my eyes, glancing momentarily to the three-inch kunai that was embedded nearly to the hilt in the book that I was still clasping to my chest, poking out the other side. Then, I looked up.

Gray threatened to flood my vision from the corner of my eyes, and I couldn't see Han, couldn't even see my attacker. Perhaps, I hoped desperately, he thought me dead, and left. Maybe I would be okay, after all.

"You're not much of a fighter, are you?" a sibilant voice asked, shattering my hopes. I turned my head slowly as I struggled to sit up, and met two narrowed dark eyes, nearly black. Clothed black as the night, I could only see the upper half of the assassin's face - and the gleaming hitai-ate of Konoha, the very object which had tipped me off, though far too late to be of use.

_Not an ANBU - they would only show themselves willingly. Chūnin or below, then. But that doesn't help me much._ The thought congealed briefly, then vanished again.  _Fuck, I'm dead._

"Wh-" I sputtered, but I couldn't breathe. Maybe I had broken something, I realized. Just below the shoulder, on the side of my ribcage, that's where I'd been hit. Had the bastard shattered my ribs? I'd landed right on those!

I was going into shock - I recognized that distantly as I tried to parse the thought into coherence. I'd forgotten what  _shock_ actually meant, but it sounded right.

There was a dull green glow as the ninja leaned towards me, and something  _surged_ through me, sharp and soothing at the same time. The scent of chakra prickled in my nose, and something of relief overtook the agony that was my side.

"Not quite yet," the man muttered lightly. "Traitors deserve worse than such an easy death."

_Traitors_.

I latched onto the word, and even my confused brain could figure out the implications. There was only one person I knew who was described like that -  _Hatake Sakumo._ I'd heard that word enough times in reference to the man. This was no random killing, not some outside agent assassinating civilians. This was my own stupid fault, my actions coming back to bite me. Someone had seen me with the 'traitor' - and tracked me back home.

"Fuck you!" I managed to pry from in between barely responsive lips, and I wondered distantly if I'd hit my head, as that explained why I was trembling uncontrollably, why my fists were balled and refused to open, why fear and anger seemed to mix in my belly and freeze me in place.

"Ah, don't talk now - you're going to need those lungs for screaming." The ninja said as he raised himself up, staring down at me with a shake of his head. "Such a pity, all of this. If only you'd have stayed well enough away…"

"FUCK. YOU!" I repeated, and I clumsily worked myself onto my knees, swaying from side to side. Half my chest felt like it was on fire, and my head was throbbing painfully, but still I managed to stay upright. I scowled at the attacker, knowing that trying to escape was a fool's errand - I was already as good as dead. "K-kill me, then," I said with more courage than I thought I had. "That's what you came for, right?"

If I was going to die - it would at least be on my feet.

The shinobi sniffed, glancing to his side. Han was on the floor just behind the door, bleeding from his forehead, but he was whimpering, which meant he was alive. The man got a gleam in his eyes, and smiled as he brought up a kunai, grasping it by the ring.

"No!" I exclaimed sharply. "Nobody else gets involved in this. I brought this on myself!"

The man smirked. "You care for this pathetic fossil, hm?" He seemed positively intrigued. "This guy is going to die soon, anyway." He twirled the kunai on his finger, then grasped it tightly. "Tell you what - you give me this guy to play with, and I'll let you live. Maybe maim you a little. Good deal, right? How does that sound?" His grin was monstrous, and I didn't need to be a mind-reader to know he was lying. He was here for me.

"It sounds like treason," I murmured at last, as I pulled myself onto my feet, one hand grasping the kunai that was embedded in my book. I ripped it out; my other arm refused to move, still holding onto the book with rigid strength. Still, I shambled forward despite that. "Kill me, you dishonorable bastard! Do what you have to."

He shrugged. "Since you ask so nicely."

I didn't have the time nor wits to evade his attack, to do anything but flail uncontrollably - I slashed with the kunai in the general direction of my attacker, the book still held tightly to my chest, and I prayed for some luck - or for a quick ending.

Maybe, I thought bitterly, the spirit of Konoha had been lost already.

I cried out in sudden shock and pain despite knowing what was coming, and the agony washed over my thoughts, leaving only intense emptiness as the knife sliced into me right where I'd been wounded before, as pain was compounded by more pain. I could feel blood trickling out, but not a lot - the blade had stopped just before it'd have torn into my lung.

The kunai fell out of my hand as my fingers twitched uncontrollably, and the book followed it onto the hardwood with a thud. For a long moment I remained upright, leaning against the wall with my back, and I thought I could hear Han's wailing in the distance. It didn't feel real - the whole world didn't feel real. It felt like a transparent film over a gaping hole, and as I clung to the hardness of the wood below me, it seemed like everything began flowing into one.

The second cut hurt, but it was a distant concern. I could hear my own whimpering, but it didn't feel like it was mine, not anymore. I could see the knife stabbing into my leg, slicing just far enough that my attacker could keep cutting without risking that I'd bleed out quickly.

I would have laughed, had I been able to. He was harming me with intent to torture, I was sure, but he'd begun too greedily. He'd already sent me careening towards the abyss, and all he did now was hurt flesh, not soul. The world was already twisting away, fading.

A fuzzy, buzzing sort of feeling was encroaching on reality, and it seemed to crackle, bend. Maybe it was chakra, the essence of life's energy that shinobi handled so easily - or maybe it was the death rattle of my mind. It didn't really matter - I just watched as the ninja tore into me, and I was sure I'd managed to get a smile through before the end, even as everything became fainter.

_Well, that was all fucking pointless,_ a voice echoed in my head, and I wondered whose it was - before I recognized my own.  _I die because of a shinobi, at another one's hands. I was right to fear them. And maybe to pity them._

The cutting stopped, and what had been reduced to pinpricks now vanished entirely. Though I could still see, the world was no more than blacks and grays, fuzzy at the edges, and the buzzing overtook everything. Then -  _white_. It was sharp and burning, and my nose protested suddenly at the enormous surge of power that overtook the world as chakra erupted. For a moment, I imagined it was my end, that it was the pure world pulling at me. It was not.

My torturer hung slumped over before me, his blood-slicked knife falling to the ground, joining my own in a pool of blood. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and something bright hung from the bottom of his neck, something I couldn't see clearly. Then more white resolved itself, and I realized it was also on the other side of his neck, tearing through him from end to end - dripping like a bloody fang. And someone was holding it.

Sakumo.

_No!_

I recoiled violently against the dimming of light when I recognized that face, those haunted eyes. _If I die in front of him - this was all for nothing! He'll blame himself and he'll fucking kill himself anyway! I have to survive, damn it!_

Even as I struggled, I could hear him faintly speaking in the distance, but I couldn't understand the words. Still, I forced a smile onto my face - the best I could manage. There was a surge of soothing chakra, luring me to sleep, and darkness at last stole me away.

But I refused to surrender.

* * *

_There is a saying I have always liked: 'Tragedy should be used as a source of strength.'_

_Wounds tell us of the consequences of your actions, aches remind us of the sacrifices we made. Healing speaks about the goodness in people, and recovery chronicles hope for the future._

_Still, let us always strive to learn those things without pain._

* * *

The world returned with a sickening jolt, and everything burned like fire.  _Everything._

I tried to hiss in pain, but my mouth refused to let out as much a whimper. There was a strange staleness to the air as it flooded into my seared lungs, and I could feel something on my face, some kind of cloth. For a brief and horrifying moment, I thought it was a funeral shroud - then I rationalized that it had to be bandages. At no point did my breathing even  _stutter._

I felt pain - that was  _good,_ I realized quickly. It meant I'd survived. The strangely comfortable detachment that I remembered from before was gone now, and every sensation stood out starkly, solidly, the world once more unshakable. My heart was still beating in my chest, and it showed no signs of weakness. I'd made it back from the very edge of death.

My eyelids protested as I opened my eyes - they stuck to each other as if I'd just woken up from a month's worth of sleep. Which, I realized immediately, was a disturbingly real possibility. I saw only white - a ceiling, as clean as any I'd ever seen. I wasn't in my room anymore, nor even in my house. That had to be a good thing, I reckoned.

Tempted as I was to look around, my brain caught up with me, feverishly trying to make sense of things, and I hesitated to move. My neck felt stiff, and I had no idea what I'd broken, beyond probably a few ribs. I glanced around my limited field of vision with just my eyes, hoping I could figure out where I was, hoping the strange unresponsive heaviness of my limbs bothering me more than I would admit.

"You're awake!" a voice called out suddenly, and a bandaged face came into view - it took me a few long moments to recognize the old man hidden under all that white cloth. Han smiled widely, though it seemed he was missing a few teeth, and there were tears in his eyes. "Thank goodness. I thought you'd just slip away… I'll get - someone!"

Han was gone in the next moment, leaving me to my thoughts. Sounds were oddly muffled around me, I considered, which meant the bandages probably covered my ears. I suppose I'd hardly needed those. Since Han's minor injuries had still been bandaged up, that implied only a little time had passed since I'd gone down. Judging from the quality of the bandages, there was really only one place this could be - I should have foreseen that.

"Forty hours, eh? Not bad," a woman's voice said gently. After a few seconds, she chuckled. "Ah, not moving a muscle, huh? Some of my patients could learn that kind of patience…" She came into view as she leaned over me, a thin smile visible from just above her high-collared outfit. A few stray plucks of brown hair poked out from under her poufy white hat. "How are you feeling?"

I tried to answer, but beyond my tongue flopping uselessly around, nothing happened. I blinked in a burst of panic, forgetting my hesitance, but even my attempt to move my head failed to induce much more than a tremor.

The nurse, doubtlessly a medical-nin, frowned as she wrote something down just out of my vision. "Hm," she hummed. "I'd honestly expected that you'd only wake a few days from now, when the muscle paralysis would've long since passed - I guess you're still locked in there."

It was temporary - the realization came with a wave of relief. It didn't make things any easier, but at least - at least it'd end.

"It's a side-effect of the medicine, I'm afraid," the nin mused. "It's used during surgery, but in civilians it can take some days to flush out of the system, since there is not much chakra to burn it away. I'm afraid you'll have to wait it out." She smiled kindly. "You know who you are, right? And where you are?"

I couldn't speak, and I wondered for a long moment how I was supposed to answer. Finally, I just blinked with emphasis, and she nodded.

"Questions will be difficult, I guess." She chewed her lip for a moment. "In case you don't know this place, though, it is Konoha's general hospital. You were brought in two days ago, suffering from - well…" She shook her head. "Frankly, a baffling array of wounds - very nearly lethal. It took nearly four hours before we managed to stop all the bleeding, so you were quite lucky…"

"Just tell him what he needs to know, Taji. He's bound to be confused after all your rambling," a second person said from somewhere outside my field of view - he sounded older, male. "It's clear that any interrogation will have to wait."

Taji sighed wearily. "Yes, yes. Well, then - the simple truth is that though your condition is stable, Jiron-san, it's too early to tell whether you will regain use of your left arm. A number of nerves were severed, and the knife's blow apparently nicked your spine on its way. Thankfully, we had a number of experts available to heal you." She winked. "As the grouchy fellow mentioned, you're expected to relay what happened when you wake up, so we can put the right people behind bars. Don't worry - everyone involved is in jail."

I managed a slight cough, that time. My attacker was dead, I was sure - I'd seen him impaled on a sword, breathing his last. Barring him, there could only be one person who might have ended up in bad weather, even in jail - Sakumo, whose reputation was already disastrous. Shit.

"Don't worry about any more attacks - we won't put you in danger," Taji said kindly. "We're not allowing anyone in this wing, except for your caretaker."

Though I wanted to say something in Sakumo's defense, the words just dried up in my mouth. Taji left after a few minutes, telling me to sleep off the worst of my medication. Though Han came back to the room after that, he let me be, content to allow me some rest. Everyone probably thought I was utterly devastated, even paranoid about being tended to by shinobi - I imagined they were keeping me apart for fear of my reaction.

But the truth was - I knew what happened, and I couldn't muster any blame for anyone except the bastard that burst through my window. That terrifying moment replayed again and again in my mind, the film of the world rolling back as I shuffled away from life - and all I could really think about was that I felt sorry for the man who died.

In truth, I  _pitied_ a man who came to kill me. Because he'd attacked me because of my connection to Sakumo, fleeting as it was, I was certain of it. His feelings of betrayal had been burning so strongly within him, that the only outlet he could find was torturous violence. That sort of mentality - I could barely imagine what had to have led to it. What could have made someone  _that_ bitter. And yet, despite all that, I didn't hate the man, not really. I wondered distantly what that said about me - I imagined my old village's priest would have been pleased.

What was clear, however, was that vengeance, even over the littlest things, was horrific business when ninja were involved. If the assassin had not been prolonging my suffering, healing me just enough to keep me alive, I'd certainly have bled out right away - I had most definitely been lucky. My singular contact with shinobi had very nearly robbed me of my life.

Could I do all of it again, knowing the price? If this was no ill omen, I didn't know what would be - but at the same time, I'd  _survived_. If pain was the price I paid for the life of a stranger, what would It take to save a whole village, as I so foolishly intended?

_My soul?_

* * *

I woke up several more times, but I never managed to stick around for more than a few minutes, staring at the white ceiling and wiggling my toes, unable to check if I managed it. I had no reckoning of time, no way to tell how long I'd been in that room - but I remembered the nurse's face peering worriedly at my desperate blinking.

At last, some immeasurable time later, things were suddenly different. I woke up sputtering, and I instinctively leaned turned a little - and it worked.  _Movement._  I was still bandaged up, strapped to the hospital bed, but I could feel again. My mouth, dry as a Suna canyon, let out a rattling sigh, and I licked my lips, glad to realize that I had control again. If there was any apprehension left about my situation, it faded right then. I'd be alright.

Quite suddenly, before I'd acclimated to having muscles again, someone held a cup of water to my lips. I sipped from it greedily before I'd fully registered it, and for a long minute everything was just the water, the sweet sensation of it trickling down my tortured throat. Sharp stabs in my side reminded me of my wounds, even as the water seemed to flush away the cobwebs from my mind. It wasn't until I finally pried open my eyes, turning my head ever so slightly to face my benefactor, that I realized who it was. I nearly choked.

"Calm down, young man," he chided lightly.

"H-" I tried to say something, anything, but my voice grated in my throat, and I cut myself off before I could finish, squinting in agony as pain rushed radiated out from vocal chords that protested against the abuse. As the feeling abated, I finally blinked warily, taking in the man to my side, staring incredulously and not afraid to admit as much.

Because the man who was standing by my bed-side was Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage.

He smiled good-naturedly from under his wide-brimmed hat, imprinted with the symbol for 'fire', and his lined face and graying beard made him look a little grandfatherly - but he was still the Hokage, and I tried to stammer something halfway respectful. His eyes held no malice, nor any hint of the stern interior that certainly had to exist - and I wondered why he was here. I'd only ever seen the man from a long distance - I'd never thought I'd actually meet him face to face.

"It seems I came at precisely the right time," the Hokage said mildly.

I didn't even need to see his wry smile to deduce that he wasn't at my bedside by accident. He'd arrived precisely when I'd woken up, which meant he'd been kept aware of when that would be. There was only one person who'd been keeping watch over me the entire time.

"T-Taji-san," I murmured at last from cracked lips. "A-Anbu?"

His gaze sharpened minutely, then he graciously nodded. "Correct," he said to himself, reaching for his mouth, and he stopped as a flash of annoyance made its way across his face. "I forget that there is no smoking in the hospital. Bah."

"H-Hokage-sama? Why are you…?" I stammered out, wincing at every tone. "...here?"

The leader of Konoha didn't answer for a few seconds, his eyes lingering briefly on my side, which was covered in thick bandages, and quite red. "I was quite intrigued, Jiron-san, when one of my finest came to me with the most unlikely story." He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing along my bed for a pace or two, before turning around. "You know who I am referring to."

"Sakumo-san."

The old man inclined his head. "That man is entirely too private for comfort, and I hadn't spoken to him in months outside of assignments. Indeed, not at all since  _that_ happened. Then, suddenly, I receive  _two_ message in the span of an hour. The first alerted me to a potential spy, and a particularly foolish one. The second - retracted that suspicion." He ran a hand through his goatee, and raised an eyebrow. "That is how it stayed, for a time."

I didn't know what to say, but it seemed my silence was enough.

"After the attack on your person, of course, he was brought to interrogation - and there I heard from him the details of your meeting, and the reason that one of my own Chūnin would hunt down a civilian. He relayed to me the conversation that you had, reluctant as he was to do so, so that you were spared a visit to that department." He cocked his head to the side slightly, smiling faintly. "As you might expect, his words were quite  _familiar."_

"Because they were yours," I acknowledged slowly. I looked away to the ground. "I meant no offense, Hokage-sama."

"I am aware of that. They were my words, but more precisely my ideals. Anyone can recite a book, Jiron-san, if they take the time to memorize it. Hatake-san is quite adept at seeing through lies, and he would have surely caught you if you'd merely paid lip service to my speech. No - you meant those words as much as I did, which implies rather remarkable things about you."

I glanced up, blinking. "...Thank you?"

The Hokage shrugged. "It's surprising, of course. You are a newcomer to this land, and have only recently started calling Konoha your own. But even so, you already possess something that we could use more of in this place. That is what led you to Hatake-san's side, is it not?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do." I shook my head slightly, and it felt like my brain was wiggling around insides, so I quickly stopped. I tried to make a coherent statement, some philosophical observation that I was sure I had ready - but at the moment, it felt like my head was full of jelly.

"You will recover fully, I assure you," the Third said, reaching over to the nightstand, and his hands hovered momentarily over the cover of a large book there, before he picked it up. Right through the middle of it was a familiar hole, and my hand jerked to my chest in recognition. "It seems that sometimes, Ninjutsu can be of service even to civilians."

"Sakumo - is he alright?" I asked hurriedly. "He's not in jail, right?"

"He was released the day after the attack," the Hokage said easily. "The man who attacked you, incidentally, was a particularly vocal opponent of his, and elected to vent his rage against an easier target. The fact that you were a civilian, and therefore defenseless, gave him the chance he needed. For what it's worth - I am sorry he had the opportunity."

"Sorry? For what?" I bit my tongue. "H-Hokage-sama…"

The Third seemed oblivious to my stumbling rudeness. "It is simple. Your visit to Hatake-san's home led to the temporary reassignment of two ANBU guards as your - companions. When no evidence of foul play was observed, I allowed them to return to their regular duties. The day after that, you were attacked."

"Hardly our fault. I should have seen it coming," I murmured. "...Thank you for the concern, Hokage-sama," I said, giving a slight nod - the closest thing I could give him to a bow.

"You are welcome. And Jiron-san?" The Hokage said softly. "If you get involved in shinobi affairs again - please be discrete. The next time, you may not survive."

I inclined my head warily. "Understood."

He smiled dangerously as he stepped out of the door. That expression stayed with me for much longer than I cared to admit - tacit approval of my actions, perhaps. Maybe, just maybe, I could really do something meaningful.

The attack didn't deter me at all, I realized. Now that I had my right mind back, I could no more step back from the challenge that was put before me than I could stop reading books, or never eat again. Solving problems was something I  _lived for,_ and here was the greatest of all, placed before me to pick apart, its dangers and promises all too clear to me.

Death had looked me in the eye, shown me the ultimately price I might yet pay for my actions, and then let me go. I feared many things, but I knew I could not let it control my life. I'd face the shinobi that terrified me, stand up to the monsters, and maybe save a few broken dreams.

The future was a challenge that traversed the edge between glory and death.

Bring. It. On.


	3. Ghosts

**Chapter 3 - Ghosts**

* * *

 

I'd finally arranged to leave the hospital just shy of a week after I'd been brought in. My wounds hadn't recovered fully _,_ but I could live with muscle pains and exhaustion if it meant mobility, and the medical-nin didn't even protest my release. Taji, whom I now knew to be a member of ANBU, probably wanted to get back to something that wasn't civilian guard duty. Still, she gave me a bit of a boost just before I departed - a fraction of a pill that shinobi used to get their energy back.

After days at her mercy, I hardly had a reason to suspect she might poison me, and I think she was surprised that no protest was forthcoming. Whatever it was, that 'medicine' banished the weakness out of my limbs, and the tremors in my hands faded like they'd never been there.

Drugs were a hell of a thing.

Even now, hours after I'd walked on my own power out of those doors, I was still coasting on that energy, taking advantage of what was surely a brief reprieve from exhaustion. Even my wounds didn't really hurt, not as much as they should have.

Still, scars crisscrossed my arms and legs, and went rather deeper than I'd expected - in some spots, It seemed like I'd been run through from front to back. The biggest of all was directly under my left arm, an ugly mess of layered tissue that was tough as leather, and just as inflexible. It was the only place I still wore bandages, since opening it up could be  _bad_ while it was still healing.

It was funny, really, that before the attack, I had looked like any pasty-skinned civilian, barely noticeable in a crowd. Now I was as pockmarked as any shinobi, probably more than most. It was like the moment I had set a foot into the shinobi world, a tentative step, it had snatched me up and claimed me as its own. The world had already left its marks. I'd have to get used to wearing long sleeves the whole year round, or half the civilians in my neighborhood would be put on edge. As far as they were concerned, I'd been tainted.

Perhaps it was that uneasy feeling which prevented me from heading back home straight away. It seemed like that place would come with a lot of trouble. So I found myself wandering the shinobi-laden streets of inner Konoha, unsure if the chill on my skin was from lingering weakness, or my own instinctual awareness of frailty. Still, when shinobi did look at me, and met my gaze, most of them turned out to be inquisitive, curious - very few were openly hateful. There was familiar steel there, of course, but...

Something had changed, and it wasn't the shinobi. Following in Sakumo's wake, I'd been indecisive and twitchy in this place - but now I had a mission, and fear wouldn't stand in my way. Just as I had stood up to my attacker, knowing his power and my likely forthcoming death, I kept my eyes straight ahead. Perhaps those too, now held steel.

I heard the sound of slouching feet behind me, and paradoxically, I relaxed a little. Shinobi wouldn't be heard unless they wanted to, certainly not by me, which meant this person was intentionally making me aware of him, probably in an effort not to startle me.  _White_ came instantly to mind, a flash of cold metal mercilessly slamming through a man's neck.

"Sakumo-san," I said lightly, a small smile curling around the corners of my mouth before I glanced over my shoulder. "This is payback for my own stalking, isn't it? Won't you join me?"

The silver-haired shinobi appeared next to me in an instant, his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast, just like last time. "Jiron-san," he said mildly, nodding in recognition. "It's good to see you on your feet. You look - better."

I snorted in derision as he glanced down at my bandages. "We both know I look like crap. There's a good excuse for it, though." I put a finger to my chin, mocking deep thought for a moment. "Let's say - someone mistook me for a training post the other day. It's easy to do that with someone who is so pencil-thin, you know… How's that sound?"

Sakumo smiled for an instant, then sighed. "Your sense of humor still needs work. Guess that's on the mend, too, though."

"I did get hit in the head," I replied dryly, and frowned. "Look at us, huh? Two very nearly dead men, walking another day. The Shinigami remains hungry for a bit longer."

"No. He got his fill already," Sakumo observed.

I shrugged at that, thinking about my attacker with a frown. "Eh, I doubt he likes the taste of traitors. Anyway, don't want to make things all gloomy by talking about  _that_ guy…"

Neither of us said anything for a while after that, not until we reached the center of town. The silence wasn't tense, however, and the presence of a familiar face allowed me some calm even among so many strangers. As I stopped glancing around out of paranoia, fewer and fewer people seemed to pay any attention to me at all. Blending in wasn't  _that_ hard.

It was only a few moments later that I realized this was weird _,_ since  _Sakumo_ of all people was walking next to me. When the hell had people forgotten about him, or his issues?

"Eh…?" I blurted intelligently as my gaze switched between my companion and the street.

"Don't worry about it. It's just a Genjutsu," the Hatake said pensively. "It's an illusion that I placed on myself a few blocks back. Given what happened due to our last meeting, I'd rather avoid further… trouble." He ran a hand through his hair. "That, and the Hokage insisted on it."

"I guess most people are willfully ignoring you," I mused after a moment. "The Genjutsu can't be strong enough to affect everyone, unless you got an Uchiha to cast it. Hell,  _I_ can see through it… But - it gives the people who don't really hate you a way out, doesn't it?"

"That is quite a cynical way of looking at things," Sakumo said after a moment. He smiled sheepishly. "And yet - it's also true."

I nodded, frowning. "There's something - we need to address. This particular meeting, for one." I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't come to me of your own free will, did you? I gathered as much from the Hokage's words when he visited me."

"...He told you that?" Sakumo asked after a moment, scratching his chin awkwardly. "My, he must like you."

"Well, I did memorize his speeches, you know," I reminded him with a small grin. "He told me he'd make sure you visited after my release from the hospital, and here you are. Of course, having nothing to do in the hospital but wait until my wounds healed up, I got to thinking.  _Why_ would the Hokage assume he'd need to step in and convince you?"

The Hatake's shoulders slumped. "Ah."

"Yes. It was possible, of course, that you were afraid to lure in even more insane people who might want to hurt me," I noted dryly. "I doubt someone of your caliber would have trouble sneaking into the shop, though. Another possibility - and the likelier - is that you thought I wouldn't want to see _you_. That you imagined I'd hold you responsible."

"I am hardly blameless," the Jōnin replied blandly. "The assassin went after you specifically because of our little conversation - one that I allowed out of foolish curiosity. Had I simply escaped from you the moment I noticed your interest, none of this would have happened."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't patronize me, please. There was more than curiosity at work, there. You suspected me from the beginning, I'm sure." The Hokage's words had revealed that much, and though Sakumo's expression didn't change, I hardly needed the confirmation. "I can see why you'd doubt my motives. Civilians make for pretty good spies, as you shinobi tend to underestimate us, and here I was, approaching one of the village's legends..."

Sakumo shook his head. "I retracted that suspicion very swiftly. It was - short-sighted of me to be so paranoid. Given my disgrace, I assumed you might have been an agent sent to explore my potential for betraying Konoha." He frowned darkly. "You would not have been the first."

"Right." I nodded, wondering how many other people had set foot inside the Hatake household, only to be struck down the instant that their treachery became clear. "I guess I was the first that came at you from the  _other_ angle, huh?"

"...Yes."

"Lucky me," I muttered, gesturing at my scars. "These are the signs of my own short-sightedness, then. I went to your door of my own volition, and didn't think enough about the consequences. Blaming you would be as silly as blaming Han because he let me sleep in the house where the attack happened. Don't worry about it."

Sakumo shrugged. "An admirable perspective. Guilt and blame are so much easier than forgiveness." He stared ahead, smiling thinly. "I can understand why you sought me out, if that is really how you look at things. Suffocating guilt and self-loathing must be like a poisonous miasma to you - a reaction was inevitable."

"Nah, I didn't think about it that deeply," I admitted ruefully. "Seemed like I could help someone out, and that was all."

"Perhaps that is even better," Sakumo murmured. "Who is more righteous? He who does good for the sake of his well-considered ideals, or he who does good simply because it is in their  _nature_? Regardless of your motives, in approaching me or forgiving me, thank you."

"And I ought to thank  _you,_ " I answered dryly. "You did save my life. You know, on these days I curse the fact that reading a lot of books isn't particularly helpful in improving observational skills. Even if I did look straight through  _you._ " I rubbed my shoulder, smirking. "My dodging could use some work, at least."

"It seems we are even," Sakumo mused with a crooked grin.

I stared at him for a long moment. "I never considered it a debt, you know." I paused as a thought came to me. "...How  _did_ you find me in time? Who tipped you off?"

"The Chūnin that assaulted you was - sloppy," Sakumo said slowly, running a hand through his silver mane. "He attacked under cover of night, true, but he still broke a window to enter, and used a considerable amount of chakra. That negated much of his advantage. There was a Genin in the area who was working late as punishment, and he contacted the military police when he spotted the broken window. I was in their barracks at the time of the incident."

"So there's more night-owls than just me," I noted wryly. "You were with the Uchiha?"

"Yeah. Because of something - related to my son," Sakumo agreed. "The military police have several sensor-type ninja among their ranks, and one of them pinpointed the location of the Genin in question for me. Needless to say, the address was familiar." He grimaced. "I am a lot faster than most of the police members, so I was the first to arrive."

"Right. And you killed the bastard before anyone else managed to catch up," I observed. "I saw that part, before I blacked out. Guess that's why you ended up in jail?"

Sakumo nodded wearily. "It was only a few days and Kakashi can take care of himself, so it wasn't that big of a deal. The Uchiha kept me well-fed, and it was not like my reputation could sink much lower. It didn't really bother me."

"What a sunny personality you have," I muttered wryly. "So, that Genin and the police were involved in my rescue too - I ought to go by and thank them at some point. I owe them my life, too."

Sakumo looked at me with an odd expression. "You really are a strange one," he noted. "Before all this, I'm sure you were  _terrified_ of shinobi. I saw that on the evening you came to me. Now you walk around these streets by yourself, even while you're wounded, and you plan to visit shinobi voluntarily. How on earth did getting tortured by a shinobi make you  _less_ wary?"

"Oh, I promise you I'm no less wary than before," I answered after a moment. "But maybe I understand you people a little better."

"Ah.  _One fears what one doesn't understand_ ," Sakumo murmured. "I see what you were referring to."

"Yeah. This little disaster taught me a lesson or two - personal lessons. Painful ones." I rubbed the scars on my arms distractedly, frowning. "I guess after seeing how bad you shinobi can really get, I want to see the good side too. Like it or not, you people got under my skin. And I'm a civilian of Konoha now, so there's no easy way of getting rid of me, either. Aside from the way that just failed."

"Heh." Sakumo raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least things will be  _interesting_ with a crazy civilian around. Half the shinobi are a bit mad anyway, you'll fit right in. And you know who you can ask for the occasional favor, of course."

I let that thought simmer for a moment, then smirked devilishly as an idea came to me. I'd never imagined I'd meet legendary shinobi, much less run into the White Fang  _and_ the Third Hokage, so maybe I could arrange one more? I wasn't going to get an easy shot at it again, and right now Sakumo might still consider giving into my stranger whims. It was manipulative - but shinobi were known for that sort of stuff, anyway.

Sakumo looked at me warily. "...What's that look about? Should I be worried?"

"I was just thinking… You are a pretty famous shinobi, right?" I said at last. "You must have some clout with the higher-ups even now, since you can just send message to the Hokage without even a second thought." I smiled knowingly. "Could you arrange a meeting for me? There's a shinobi I'd like to meet. One of the legendary  _Sannin_."

"You want me to get one of  _them_ to meet with a civilian?" The White Fang mused. "That would… take some doing..."

"I'd owe you one, though," I said. "Or you can consider that as compensation for whatever tiny sliver of culpability you might've had in all this." I gestured to my scarred hands. "You really don't need any more guilt on your shoulders, so…"

Sakumo's shoulders sagged, but he smiled nevertheless. "You drive a hard bargain. Very well. Which one are you after?"

* * *

"Sometimes, I wonder if that hit on your head knocked something loose in there." Han shook his head mournfully as he looked at my hands, and the scars that ran across them. "What are you thinking, reading those books after what happened? Didn't you get enough of a taste of that awful life?"

I leaned back tiredly, dropping my book onto my desk - the same one that I'd been sitting at a few weeks earlier, when the attack happened. My old room still felt eerie, and I sometimes felt like someone might crash through the window again at any moment. Still, the man was dead - and there was doubtlessly an ANBU on the lookout, now that the Third had personally apologized for the previous incident. My room was still my own, and I wouldn't let some clueless assassin ruin it.

Of course, Han though I was completely insane for even stepping back into that room, much less sleeping in my own bed, spattered as it had been with my blood. Beyond the general idea that it was probably bad luck to tempt fate, he seemed convinced that I was developing some weird death wish. It didn't help that I was still reading books about shinobi - perhaps even more so than before the incident. Every day, he seemed a little bit more bothered by that, his glowering expression turning ever darker.

I didn't really know what to do about that, though; I was just trying to continue my life, and letting go of things that couldn't change anyway. The attack happened, and the man who'd been behind it was no longer a problem. The chapter was closed. My room was clean again, the scent of blood long gone, and my scars punctuated the lessons I'd so forcefully learned from the whole affair. Why  _should_ I give in to self-pity, when it wouldn't help even a bit?

The underlying problem that had to be solved wasn't my denial over what happened, since I acknowledged that fully, nor was it my intent to keep learning new things. I doubted it had anything to do with  _me_ at all, in fact. Han knew I held ideals that were odd to him, and he'd always acknowledged that his new housemate was a little weird, so he shouldn't be this upset.

Really, it had gone on long enough.

"Stop with the staring. You've been doing it for weeks now," I said finally, shoving aside my books and papers and turning to Han with a little more force than necessary. The man startled briefly, then his eyes narrowed the slightest bit, the hint of a grimace appearing. "Out with it, then. What's bothering you?"

"What do you  _think?_ Don't you see?" Han asked sharply, shaking his head. "Don't you see the risks that you're taking with all this? There's more where  _that_ person came from, and you're  _putting up bait for them._ " His eyes flickered to the window, and there was a hint of what could be tears in his eyes. "The next time someone comes by here, you might not be so lucky!"

"I hardly think the problem was where I lived," I said after a long moment. "Where I sleep wouldn't make a difference. You know that. If someone really want me dead, then they'd come and murder me in my sleep. Shinobi, civilians, whoever. And - if I threw my whole life around just on the off chance that someone might try that, what would it prove? Only that fear ruled my life."

"Not all fear is  _bad,_ " Han hissed. "Getting killed isn't worth it!"

I nodded. "I know  _that_. But you know that this stuff can't change how I think. Call it unhealthy, perhaps - but if I can't just turn my personality around and still call myself the same person." I shook my head. "Despite the pain, and the danger, I'm convinced that I'm on the right track. Maybe that will turn out to be wrong, but I'll find that out myself. The path was bound to be rocky, I knew that ahead of time."

"You speak like a priest, but you act like an imbecile!" Han snapped. "What kind of path is it, that you keep hitting dead ends? And by dead ends, I mean  _death."_

"My path - it's just a flowery way of saying that I want to mean something to the world - and that can't be done inside a room, afraid to interact with people. Am I scared? Yes. But I think you'll find that it's not so different from what shinobi say when you ask them the same thing. I'm convinced the Hokage would understand, for one."

"The Hokage…" Han nodded hesitated for a long moment, before he walked to the corner of my room. He carefully shoved my desk aside the tiniest bit, exposing a little empty space behind it. "He is the worst of them all, you know."

"What…?"

"This room was someone else's, before it was yours." Han explained as he rose from the floor, holding a blue cloth with a familiar metal plate attached to it in hand. "This room once belonged to someone very important to me.  _My son_." He looked to me, his expression weary, as he ran his hand over the hitai-ate, tracing the edges of Konoha's leaf inscribed upon it. "...He died when he was twenty-two. Some bastard from Kumo-" The old man paused, taking a shuddering breath.

I tried to say something, but I didn't know what wouldn't sound horrible at that moment. Han's eyes were sharp as knives as he suddenly threw the forehead protector at me, and it bounced off my arm, clattering to the floor.

"He is  _dead!_ " the old man declared with a quivering voice. "Heand his 'path' killed him. He thought that being a  _hired killer_ was his goal in life, and look where that got him! Buried in some distant land, his name carved into a piece of rock. His life -  _wasted."_

I looked away, suddenly starkly aware of how little I really knew about the man who had taken me in, who had dragged me from the rain without question. He'd doubtlessly realized I was a civilian at the time - uncomplicated, safe. My interaction with Sakumo and shinobi in general had to be a stab in the heart, if he'd lost his son to shinobi. The attack had to have been harrowing for him, too, even more so than it had been for me. A horrible reminder of the past.

"What was his name?" I asked at last.

"...Kaworu." Han's eyes dimmed, then. "He was a wonderful boy. He looked like his mother, with the same unbeatable enthusiasm, the same spirit. But - he wasn't happy with the civilian life. He saw all  _those_ people out on the roofs and in the streets, and of course we couldn't deny him anything…"

"Shinobi…"

Han sat himself down on one of my chairs, sighing deeply. "A few years later - he began to work directly for the Hokage, and we barely heard anything about how he was doing. He hardly visited home at all, and he was always so distant…"

"For the Hokage?" I wondered, frowning. "That sounds like…"

"Then the war came," Han continued inexorably. "We never saw him at all - just the very occasional letter. But we heard about fighting on the frontlines in places we didn't even know, and we knew he was out there somewhere, risking his life. My wife - she passed away, and he didn't even come to her funeral, because there was some battle and he couldn't be missed…" He sighed. "When it seemed like there would finally come an end to all the killing, that perhaps it was over -"

I could fill in the rest. The second shinobi world war - almost as bloody as the first, and every bit as terrible. Thousands had died over the six years of that conflict, ruining the lives of thousands more. Even my own country hadn't been untouched, though my village had been spared an invasion - too insignificant to matter.

"I am… sorry for your loss," I murmured at last. "Kaworu-san must have loved you very much, that he would step onto the battlefield to protect you." I gestured to the headband. "He was in ANBU, wasn't he? The Hokage's personal guard. Joining that group is voluntary, and a sign of great respect from the Hokage himself. It is the first line of defense when danger threatens. Such an appointment means that he had both great skill and great loyalty."

Han nodded sadly. "Yes - he did..." He righted himself, then. "But what does that matter, if it ended with his death?" he continued sharply, melancholy suddenly making way for anger. "My son  _died_ in a war that should never have happened, that would not have been possible without shinobi in the first place! There was no reason for it!"

I took a breath. "I can't say if his death was meaningful," I answered after a long silence. "I would rather nobody fight at all. But - Kaworu had important things to protect in Konoha, and I can understand why he took up the mask. There are few more honorable deeds that to give up your life for the people you love." I grimaced. "Even if people have to be reminded of that, sometimes."

"What use is honor when you're gone?" Han snapped. "Must you twist this around on me?"

I looked away tiredly. "I'm not doing any twisting. I don't care about war, but understand why it happens. I don't care about the shinobi system, but know why it exists. And I am convinced that there are many people of honor in their ranks, just as there are many among civilians. Your son, certainly, would be among them."

"The way you're going, you'll meet him sooner rather than later. Good riddance," Han scoffed irritably.

"You don't mean that." I picked the hitai-ate from the ground, weighing it in my hand. "I can't claim to know enough about Kaworu-san to defend his way of life, but I can defend my own. I am not a shinobi, but agree with them on some things. Among those is the importance of loyalty. Honor too, in the right things. I can't  _not_  act on such things."

"You are set on this path, then?" Han asked at last, weary. He stared at me for a long time, at last taking the hitai-ate in shaking hands. He returned it to its nook in the wall reverently, and a long silence overtook the room.

"To try and find peace in a world that bleeds over, to protect the spirit of the village when its people stray - it's a dangerous path. One that will inevitably endanger my life, as it has done already," I said after a while. "But it's not a  _bad_ path."

Han sniffed. "Are you sure about that?"

"I have to be," I acknowledged. "Because it is the same path that the Hokage walks, and Sakumo, and others. It's the same one that my mother foresaw, though I don't know if she ever found it. And, unless I'm very much mistaken, it's the path that Kaworu-san chose as well. I have to believe one of us, someday, will make it to the end."

* * *

Weeks had passed since the attack on my life, and I had still heard nothing from Sakumo about the meeting he'd arrange for me. That didn't deter me from travelling back into the bustling inner streets of Konoha, however. I tried my hardest not to let my anxiety show on my face, but even after weeks of regular exposure, I was still constantly startled by the sudden arrival and departure of unsettlingly casual shinobi. It didn't help that many of them looked less than content, glaring at nothing even as they passed me by without a blink.

Getting food was a rather more tentative step than I'd intended, admittedly, but over the last weeks I had gotten into the habit of buying a good meal or two from one of the smaller bars that dotted the heart of the village, dining besides Genin and Chūnin who were off hours. It was a fantastic way to hear the latest rumors and news as it was delivered by squads that had missions beyond the walls, though I didn't see any familiar faces - but at least most people had stopped staring at me like I was utterly out of place.

As I'd expected, I spent most of my time in the civilian quarter wearing long clothes just to cover up my many new scars. It was a small blessing that I hadn't been hit directly in the face. While running the till, Han didn't want me showing even the slightest edge of a scar.

But out  _here_ , among people who could do far worse to me than those civilians, I couldn't help but ditch those coverings, as they were superfluous. My arms were still pale and the red scars stood out sharply even after being healed by both Medical-Nin and time, but they didn't bother me much. Lots of people had scars among the shinobi - it was practically a rite of passage. Hardly anyone even looked at me funny, here.

I still needed a few good drinks before I could stop shivering under their sharp gazes, though.

"Hm. Just get the usual for me -" a man behind me said in a rather bored tone, and I turned slightly to glance over my shoulder. He seemed surprisingly youthful despite his low voice, with short black hair and a green vest that had seen better days. The man sank onto the recently vacated chair directly next to me with a relieved sigh. "Give the neighbor something too, would you? Looks like he could use it."

I blinked at the sudden gift, barely even noticing the moment it was put in front of me - perhaps I'd been drinking a little bit too much. Then again, the bartender was himself undoubtedly a shinobi, so it might've just been his uncomfortable speed. I stared at the drink in front of me for a long time, frowning.

"...Aren't you going to drink that?"

"I'm considering it," I responded slowly. "I'm weighing the risk of a hangover with the fact that it tastes  _really_ good. You ninja have the best stuff, you know."

My neighbor snorted. "Heh. If you think  _that's_ good stuff, you've had far too much of it already."

I glanced up then, smirking despite myself. "Well, that's how it works, isn't it?" I finally gave in and swallowed the drink in one go, enjoying the slight burning sensation as it made its way down. It was true, despite my neighbor's words, that it was the best I'd tasted - miles ahead of anything the civilian sector sold. Without the rather comfortable buzz, I was pretty sure I'd have clammed up the instant one of the shinobi actually started a conversation. Liquid courage was a shitty thing to rely on, but it worked.

"So, you're not a shinobi?"

I stared back at the new arrival with narrowed eyes, wondering where  _that_ question had come from, before I realized what I'd unwittingly revealed with my loose tongue. Not many of the ninja in the bar were wearing their hitai-ate, so spotting the odd man out usually took more than a few minutes - but I'd just shown his hand.

"...You aren't going to make a problem out of it, are you? There's not actually a ban on civvies…"

He sighed lightly. "True enough. But it's an unspoken rule that this place is for shinobi only. The last time I saw a civilian in here was - actually, you're the first one. Congratulations." The shinobi picked up his glass, toasting mockingly. "Here's to brave souls, then."

"Brave souls!" I agreed mockingly. I wasn't nearly drunk enough yet, and gestured for another refill. "I think the next one should be for lucky ones. Guess I deserve that one…"

My neighbor smirked. "Lucky, eh?"

"Yeah - it was a mess," I muttered distractedly, thinking of a flash of blinding  _white,_ of the moment I'd very nearly died. "Before you ask -" I said, pausing and wondering what I'd been about to say. "Why do you get to ask all the questions, anyway?"

"You have questions?"

I rolled my eyes. "You're a shinobi?"

The man sighed, vaguely gesturing to the hitai-ate that he wore around his arm. "Obviously."

"That's not very informative, actually. Everyone's a shinobi here," I drawled dully. "What's your rank?"

"...Why do you want to know that?"

I pondered that for a long moment. "Dunno. Curiosity…? Fine, not that then. How about a name?"

The man chuckled dryly at that. "My, who gets to ask all the questions now?"

The guy had a good point. I frowned for a moment, smirking slightly. "So, have I asked you for your rank yet?"

My neighbor let out a tortured sigh at that, drinking his refilled glass quickly before dropping it onto the counter with barely a glance. "...What a  _drag_." He glanced sideways across the bar, shaking his head. "You know, I figured it would be easy to get you talking with some alcohol, but you're one of those unflappable drunks that just gets  _annoying_ …"

I smiled weakly, studying the man in turn as he slumped down over the counter. I was tipsy - perhaps even properly drunk - but I wasn't  _stupid_. "So, was it Sakumo-san or Hokage-sama?"

The man jerked up as if a bee had stung him. "What?"

"The one who sent you to check up on me," I elaborated, taking a long moment to compose a reasonably intelligible sentence, even as the words refused to quite fall in line neatly. Intoxication had its downsides. "That's why you're here, right? See if I'm planning anything dastardly."

"...You're remarkably cogent for a drunk."

"Hm. And you're a little boring." I took my next glass happily, wondering when it had been refilled. "Well, what with the top-knot thing, and the posture - I'm going to guess you're the kid Sakumo's told me about. The shōgi guy?"

"Hm. Probably." The man shrugged, then slumped a little. "Alright, this is just getting tiresome. The name's Nara Shikaku. Jōnin. It's on public record, anyway. Can't be bothered to keep useless secrets."

"Hm. I'm Jiron. My rank is bupkis," I returned cheerily. "We should play sometime - Shōgi, I mean. Sakumo's an odd guy about that stuff. Says he's crap at the game, but I think he knows it better than most… Can't beat me, though. Still, he's only the second person I've actually challenged, so who knows?"

"You're going to be really annoying, I can tell that already," Shikaku complained. "Fine, fine. Come by the compound on Tuesday or Wednesday - I'll be around unless some disaster comes up. Probably on the roof. Try not to arrive liquored up, my old man would pitch a fit."

"Heh. I know that feeling too well." I drowned another glass, and purposefully put it far away from me - hopefully, I'd be spared the worst of hangovers. I thought back on my conversation with Han, and a shiver ran down my spine. Evidently, the expression did not escape my newfound drinking buddy.

"You know the feeling? You are referring to the assassination attempt, I assume?"

I shrugged lightly. "Yeah. And no. Truth is - the person who took me in, he's not really my father, but I think he might as well be…" I wondered why I'd started talking about this, but couldn't stop. "He's an old guy who is worried about everything you do, and wants to see you reach some incredibly old age, probably. Sounds about right for a dad." I shook my head. "He's got a history with shinobi, and he's not too happy about my… well, you know."

"Brave soul?" Shikaku snorted. "Figures.  _Civilians_."

"Hey, don't badmouth us, would you? There's nothing wrong with living in peace," I muttered, forcing myself not to pick up the refilled cup that had been placed right in front of me in the instant I'd looked away. Damn those ninja bartenders!

"Peace, huh? Ah, but who makes that peace possible?" Shikaku smiled thinly. "You know your history, I'm told. Before there were shinobi villages - things weren't any better than they are now, especially for those who couldn't defend themselves. Most of the time, they were worse."

"I know  _that_ ," I argued with a scowl. "The First Hokage knew it, too - that's why he started this place. I'm just kind of sad to see what you folks did to it."

Shikaku stared for a moment, then frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Hm. You should be." I glared ahead of me at nothing in particular, thinking of the Konoha I'd imagined, and the one that was actually here. I couldn't manage much more than general displeasure, however. "Bunch o' traitors…"

Shikaku cleared his throat, glancing around us nervously. "What did you mean by that?" he inquired carefully, a worried crease appearing on his forehead. "This - is not the right place for that sort of talk. It is a little busy in here, and if anyone's… twitchy..."

"Yeah. Good luck getting shinobi here to agree with idealistic nonsense," I agreed after a moment. "I won't bore you with the details." I got up from my seat gingerly. Another glass had been shoved in front of my face, but I forcefully ignored it. "...And that's enough for me, anyway. The room's wobbling."

"Leaving already?" Shikaku inquired mildly.

"Nah. Too stuffy in here, though." I turned, and waved him along. The Nara reluctantly followed, a beer in his hand.

I turned the corner just outside the pub's front door and sat myself down against the wall, taking in deep breaths from the cold air of the early night. It wouldn't do much to combat my drunkenness, really, but it might just help out a little with the aftermath.

"Might not want to do that again," Shikaku said at last after he glanced around for eavesdroppers - evidently there weren't any. "A civilian in shinobi country's got it bad enough - one that criticizes the village in a room full of killers is just asking for a bad time. And it looks to me like it wouldn't be the first time you put your foot in your mouth…"

I blinked, realizing that I'd been heading for black-out drunk at a staggering pace. "...Yeah. I blame the booze. Pretty sure I'll be mad about it later." I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. "Reckless endangerment of my own life? This is becoming a habit. Heh."

The Nara rolled his eyes. "I noticed that. Any reason you're indulging in this - vice?" he wondered, joining me against the wall with one hand in his pocket, waving his glass with the other. "Shinobi like to wind down from tough missions here, usually after anything that involves killing, or worse. It's not really a casual place, even if it looks that way from the outside. Nobody's half as drunk as they pretend to be."

"...Almost nobody," I contended, swaying a little.

"Hm. Well, obviously you've got no missions, and I doubt you really came for the taste of the beer." He shook his head. "So, what? Trying to drown your sorrows away?"

"Nah. Just my fears," I murmured, and frowned at how straightforward that had come out. "It's not about the drinks... though the bartender here is - insistent. It's about you people." I chuckled and ran a hand through my hair, feeling very foolish all of a sudden. "Call me stupid, but I thought I'd see what you folks do when you're not out doing unspeakable things. Too easy to paint you all as inhuman, otherwise."

Shikaku blinked slowly. "Right."

"Sakumo understands, I'm sure," I agreed after a moment. "If I hadn't taken a risk there, I'd never have dared approach him at all. And the Hokage understands it, too. I spoke to him in the hospital, you know - nice guy! Can write a mean speech."

"Heh." The Nara straightened. "A personal visit, huh? He does have an appreciation for courage..."

I nodded vaguely. "Same. Honestly - I'm still scared of all of you, and I'm pretty sure that's healthy. It's a prey's natural reaction in front of predators, you know? If you really wanted to, you could probably have your shadow strangle me or something. You Nara do that sort of thing, right?"

"Don't tempt me."

I stuck out my tongue. "Sarcastic one, huh? Nice…" I shook my head slowly. "Anyway, I'm scared, but I'm still  _here_. Guess it's like a personal challenge or something - if I want to do anything that involves shinobi, I'd better stop flinching every time I meet one. The bar's just for the drinks."

Shikaku smiled lazily. "So, what  _are_ you planning to do, that you're immersing yourself in our little pseudo-culture? Running into us shinobi all the time, hanging out in our bars, reading our books…"

"Ah, nothing much. I'm just out to change the world, if I'm lucky," I said lazily. "We never did toast on luck, did we?"

"Change the world?" Shikaku raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the one we have?"

I shrugged. "Oh, lots of things. Mostly the short-sightedness of people." I looked up to the full moon that loomed overhead; its pale radiance was the only clear light in the darkness. "I've read that your clan houses a lot of geniuses… You've probably seen the same thing. The peace and quiet that we enjoy… It's not going to last very long anymore."

Shikaku grimaced suddenly . "And how does a civilian figure  _that?_ "

Though I couldn't see the future, my personal aversion of war hardly meant that I refused to see it coming. I knew there weren't many ways forward for the world - not if it wished to be any better than now. Honestly, I hadn't even needed the nervous rumors spreading among shinobi and civilians alike; I could see it in the weary faces of the returning teams from beyond the walls, sent out to fight on the borders in a desperate attempt to stave off what everyone knew was inevitable. Hell, I'd seen it on the street that very day - shinobi with worried frowns, staring off wistfully across the walls. Nobody would admit to it, of course - but the message was clear.

Whatever I'd intended to change - it wouldn't be in time. War was already coming.

"It's not that hard to predict the future, when you know your history," I said at last, meeting Shikaku's eyes with a steady gaze. "You don't need to be a Medical-nin or doctor to see a disease's symptoms, either. I don't know if I can do anything when this peace breaks, but there aren't many ways anyone could hope to avert it, either. Hope I'll figure it out before the end is here…"

The Jōnin straightened. "The  _end_?"

I sighed. "Yes. If not in this conflict, then probably in the next one." I grimaced. "Konoha, Shikaku-san. That which teeters on the edge has to fall, inevitable, and this village isn't stable. We both know that, I'm sure." I turned away from Shikaku to meet the chilly evening air. "We can discuss all of it over tea. Tuesday or Wednesday, as you said. If we aren't already at war by then."

"R-right."

"See you later, Shikaku-san."

I didn't look back as I walked off towards home, but could feel that man's stare follow me until I turned the corner. That wasn't what chilled my bones. It was the fact that such a genius of the Nara clan, well-known part of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio, hadn't contradicted me even once.

"A pacifist in warrior's heaven…" I murmured. "Fuck."

**Author's Note:**

> I attributed the analogy that Shikamaru and Asuma share to the Third Hokage, seeing as he seems by far the most likely to have actually thought of it, if it wasn't Asuma himself. I wanted to use it as a callback, but the timeline got in the way. ;)


End file.
